


Maiden Voyage

by wingthing



Series: The EQ Alternaverse [30]
Category: Elfquest
Genre: EQ Alternaverse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 12:30:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4746545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingthing/pseuds/wingthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wavecatcher builds his first sailing ship. And young Gypsy Moth faces her first trial as a Wolfrider.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maiden Voyage

The ship was slowly taking shape. The keel and the ribs were all assembled, and Wavecatcher was now working to bend the planks to fit the ribs. It was hard work. He had already ruined several good pieces of wood by soaking them in water too cool for the task, or by soaking them for too short a span of time. 

This time he would build the ship. His earlier attempts had always ended in failure. The reed-boat, the outrigger canoe, the big dugout, the little boat with the shallow keel, all had failed to make the crossing around Crest Point. But this time he felt he was close to an answer. This ship would sail from the Great Holt, down the Green River to the sea, and around the point and the dangerous Wanderer’s Reef, all the way to Green Moon Bay. 

It was a wager he had hatched with Loosestrife years before. He had lost track of the years now. But the pirate captain had sneered that Cove Folk could not build real sailing ships. “Little outriggers or rafts, that’s all you fin-wrists are good for. Why build ships when you can just swim from island to island?” 

It had stung him. He had lived with the Wolfriders for countless years, but he was always the lad from Shark Cove at heart, and it galled him to endure the teasing from the pirates of Green Moon Bay. They all thought Cove Folk were bubble-headed selfshapers who were too busy sprouting tails and talking to fish to invent anything of use. “Without us, you’d all be as backward as landers,” Loosestrife always said. He was an arrogant wretch – even his own sister Savin agreed. But he was right. The Cove Folk never bothered to build anything. They lived in sea caves and swam out to find food and drank from rainwater wells. Well, he would prove that it was through no mental handicap that his folk never built waterwheels or spyglasses or anything else. All by himself, without guidance from any pirate or magic from any treeshaper, he was going to build a ship. 

His family helped him with construction. His son Fisher joined in enthusiastically, while his lifemate Yun assisted with a great reluctance. She was a lander born and raised, and didn’t quite see the point in sailing ships. But she understood a wager, and a grudge – Go-Backs always did – and she was not about to let her lifemate be proved wrong. 

A few others of his adopted tribe lent their time and effort. Yun’s child-uncle Cricket and his lovemate Tass were glad to be pitch in, although they had a knack for taking a remarkably long time to achieve remarkably little. The sails Tass had promised were already a season overdue. No matter. Wavecatcher was confident that within a year he would be sailing over to Green Moon Bay – not in an outrigger sailed from the tip of the Point the way they always travelled, the shortest, easiest distance – but through the storm-filled seas off Wanderer’s Reef, like a real seafarer. 

He had poor hearing out of the water – all Cove Folk did. But Yun had her father’s keen senses, and she sat up alertly in the skeleton of the ship. “Something’s brewing back at the Holt,” she said. “Swift’s tearing into someone something fierce.” 

* * * 

“Have you no good sense?” Swift shouted at her errant daughter. “Nothing but water in your head growing that briar patch of hair? How many times have I told you, Gypsy Moth? Never in the long grass in the dry season! Never by yourself!” 

The gangly youth in front of Swift scowled back defiantly. “I didn’t see a single stalking bird out there.” 

“You never see them until it’s too late!” 

“We’re wolves, Mother, not tame dogs at Green Moon Bay! You can’t keep us all tied up–” 

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do, Gypsy! You’re confined to the Grandfather Tree until I say so. Even wolves need a little time to be still, and by Two-Spear’s Madness, you’re going to get some.” 

Gypsy Moth clenched her hands at her side, seething with frustration. “You can’t make me!” 

“I’ll tie you down myself if I have to.” 

Gypsy Moth stared at Swift, completely baffled. Suddenly she let loose with an ear-piercing scream. Having vented her rage she turned and climbed back into the banyan tree, seeking her own den and sanctuary from the chieftess. 

Swift glared at the countless pairs of eyes secretly watching from the greenery until she was satisfied they had all retreated. By her mad sire, this third child of hers would be her undoing. 

She sensed someone else watching her, a pair of eyes that had refused to withdraw. She glanced over her shoulder at her lifemate. “Don’t you look so smug!” 

“Smug, I, lifemate?” 

“You. You’re enjoying this.” 

Rayek shrugged. “It’s about time she put the same terror into you she breeds in me every day.” 

“She’s a reckless, wilful cub!” 

“Mm, they say she’s like her grandsire at that age.” 

“Don’t say it! Don’t even think it!” **Oh, Rayek, where did we go wrong?** 

Rayek strolled out onto the branch. **She’s a Wolfrider, Tam. She’s Spar... and Cricket... and Tass... and dare I say it, a little bit of Scouter too.** 

**Venka and Sunstream were never–** 

**No... Venka and Sunstream were a little too busy besting Winnowill and taking over the Palace to be such pests.** 

**She’s going to be the death of me.** 

Rayek shrugged. **She’s seventeen.** 

**When I was her age I was chief! When Venka was her age–** 

Rayek shrugged. **She’s not you. She’s not Venka. She’s a little pest of a wolf trying to find her way into the pack...** he spun his hand in the air, **or whatever it is those yearlings do when they start tearing strips off each other and acting like mad beasts.** 

Swift folded her arms angrily. “Why are you taking her side in this, hmm? Why are you so damned calm?” 

“Because it’s amusing to take the high ground while you struggle to swim.” He smiled. “It doesn’t happen very often. I take advantage of it when it comes.” 

Swift moaned softly and stumbled into Rayek’s arms for a hug. **What are we going to do about her, lifemate?** 

Rayek held her close. **We’re going to let her tear up her sheets in a rage. And then you’re going to go up and talk to her and find out what’s... biting her, as you say.** 

Swift pulled back. “Me? Why me?” 

Rayek feigned horror. “Well I’m not going near that little monster! She’ll try to eat me!” 

Swift laughed, her anger spent. After a thousand years lifemated, Rayek had learned well how to dispel her moods with grace. She kissed him lightly on the lips, then turned and climbed up into the tree, chasing her wayward daughter. 

* * * 

Sure enough, Gypsy had made a mess of her den. Her bark gourds lay on the floor, her clay beads and sugar stalks cast across the den. Her cotton sheets were rumpled and torn. She always tore her sheets when she was angry, and over the years she had turned her well-appointed Sun Folk bed into a nest of soft cloth shreddings. 

Gypsy Moth sat outside her den on her swing of aerial roots, idly kicking her feet in the air. Swift hovered in the doorway long enough to let Gypsy relax in her presence. Then she climbed out and crouched on a branch next to the swing. 

“What’s biting you, cub?” she asked gently. “No one goes playing in the long grass unless they have something to prove.” 

Gypsy shrugged, swinging her legs. “I don’t know...” 

“Remember when we could talk about anything, little moth?” 

She remained withdrawn, sullen. “I... I want to do something, Mother!” she exclaimed suddenly. “I want to... to have a place!” 

“A place?” Swift parroted, amazed. High Ones, did Rayek have their daughter’s pulse after all? She never would have thought it – father and daughter seem as different as night and day lately. “What do you mean? You’re the chief’s daughter–” 

“But not the chief’s heir.” 

Again Swift was amazed. “Do you want to be chief, Gypsy?” 

“No, of course not!” Gypsy sneered. “I could never be chief. Too much...” 

“Thinking,” Swift quipped. Gypsy snarled, baring her teeth. Swift covered her mouth to hide her smile. “I’m sorry. That was... uncalled-for.” 

“I don’t want to be chief’s heir,” Gypsy repeated. “I... I want to be something!” 

“You run with the hunters. Your axe is–” 

“One wolf among many! I’m not the fastest rider, I’m not the best shot. I’m not the best anything! I’m just... a... child!” 

Swift nodded. She understood. It wasn’t easy to find one’s place in the tribe, much more so now that the term Wolfrider could mean almost anything. “I know how hard it can be. You’re not a cub... but you’re not quite ready to be a full-grown wolf. I remember being your age, you know, as amazing as that sounds. You stumble now and then, and you think you’ll never learn to keep your balance. Your blood is always running so hot... sometimes you think you’re going mad. And your nights are full of fiery young dreams, eh?” she added playfully. “Lads on your mind all the time.” 

Gypsy shrugged. “I don’t like lads.” 

“Ah, that’s all right. It hits us all at different times.” 

Gypsy took a deep breath. “No. I mean... I don’t like lads.” 

Swift blinked. “Oh.... Oh!” 

Gypsy smiled sheepishly. “Sorry...” 

“Sorry? For what?” 

“We-ll... what with me and Fisher being agemates... I know everyone thinks –” 

“Everyone thought Skywise and I would end up together,” Swift laughed. “Look how well that turned out!” 

Gypsy chuckled softly. 

“Is that what you’ve been worried about, little moth? That you won’t find yourself someone? There are lots of elves who aren’t lads wandering about.” Swift noted the sudden tension in Gypsy’s shoulders and continued slyly, “Or is there are a certain not-lad you’ve already got your eye on?” 

Gypsy leaned forward conspiratorially. She licked her lips nervously, then whispered: “Her name is Sandpiper. She’s from Green Moon Bay.” 

“Sandpiper... Sandpiper... she’s kin to Savin, isn’t she?” 

“By lifemating,” Gypsy nodded. “She’s Savin’s nephew’s aunt.” 

“You’ve been studying your prey...” Swift remarked, struggling to hide her smile. 

“She’s a fisher,” Gypsy continued as if she hadn’t heard her mother. “Dives for shellfish. You’ve probably seen her diving off Shoal Point. And... she...” her gaze grew distant, “she has the curliest blond hair... you probably don’t notice because it’s always wet and pulled back out of her face, but when it dries out it’s like gold sand all around her face... and her eyes are the colour of... of... I don’t know how – this... bright... clear... red-brown... like tea! And... and the rest of her... I mean... I... whenever I’m around her... I... I just want to... bite her!” 

Swift burst out laughing. Gypsy Moth fixed her with a steely glare, and Swift sobered, looking suitably chastened. “Yep... I remember being your age,” she said. 

Gypsy clenched her fists tight. “But she barely notices me. She thinks I’m just a little...pip.” 

“Have you talked to her. Maybe she doesn’t–” 

“Oh, she does! I’ve... asked around,” she admitted, a touch of guilt in her voice. “A lot. No, she does. She just doesn’t like me! She thinks I’m too young... too... ordinary.” 

“Did she say that?” 

“No... but it’s obvious. She’s... she’s old, Mother! She’s even older than you!” 

Swift bit her lip tightly. 

“And she doesn’t just pick up any lovemate,” Gypsy continued. “She’s not a... a Go-Back. She waits until she find someone really... impressive. And she’s been alive so long... what can impress her now? Not me.” 

“What did she say? Word for word.” 

“She thought I was... ‘sweet.’ Sweet. Harmless!” 

“And... you think that going off into the long grass trying to bring down a stalking bird single-handedly will... impress her?” 

“Shut it,” Gypsy moaned. “I never said it was a good plan. I just... I want to do something. Something that shows I’m not just... ordinary. And don’t tell me to just ‘be me.’ I don’t know ‘me’ – that’s the problem!” 

“Well you won’t find ‘you’ by running out blindfolded and hoping for the best.” 

“I don’t know what to do.” 

“Be patient, Gypsy. Don’t... just run into trees to see if you can knock them over. It takes time to find your way. I know – I know! You’re sick of hearing that. I was too. I really hated to hear that from Venka.” 

“From Venka?” Gypsy’s eyes lit up. 

“She found her head long before I did mine,” Swift nodded. “Is it that surprising?” 

* * * 

Rayek laughed too when he heard Swift’s tale. He laughed a little too hard. “All these moods have all been about impressing a maiden? Oh, that fool kitling.” 

Swift made a strangled sound, disguised as a cough. “What was that?” Rayek asked. 

“I said ‘Leetah,’” Swift replied cheerfully. 

“Now that was completely different,” Rayek charged. 

“Of course it was, love. Of course it was.” 

* * * 

Gypsy Moth spent a full eight-of-days inside the Holt’s boundaries, confined to dreary tasks such as preparing meat and storing food for the coming wet season. She performed her penance without complaint, but as soon as her restrictions were lifted, she disappeared into the jungle again, spending her days largely alone with her wolf-friend Niptail. 

“She’s not on her spirit-quest is she?” Rayek asked Swift worriedly. “I thought she was done with all that.” 

“Ah, something’s gnawing at her. I suppose she thinks if she goes hunting long enough, she’ll look it in the face. Or whatever it was you were doing in those rocks around Sorrow’s End.” She smiled wanly. “Did you ever find yourself out there, lifemate?” 

“I thought I did,” Rayek decided. “Perhaps I did. Some... small part of myself.” He slipped his arms about her waist and held her close. “But then I saw you, and I changed, and I realized what I was looking for couldn’t be found in rocks and sand.” 

The rainy season started early, in what the Wolfriders called autumn and the Islanders called spring. The Green River overflowed its banks a full moon-dance early, and Wavecatcher and his family struggled to finish before it could sink. 

“Lash those branches down here, Fisher!” Wavecatcher shouted orders as they bound and nailed boards onto the deck of the ship as the rain streamed down through the holes in the forest canopy. “We have to get this deck finished before the rain floods the hull and the whole mess sinks like a stone.” 

As the water rose, the hunting trails became muddy rivers, and the swimming pools spread out over the open fields. Gradually the wolfpack was driven to higher ground, while the Wolfriders moved into a completely arboreal habitat for the next three months. The rain showed little sign of abating as the days passed and the first little canoes were launched onto the growing lake at the base of the Grandfather Tree. Yet everyday Gypsy Moth travelled far from the Holt, hunting by herself. She shunned hunting with the others completely now, and refused to partake in the group kills. The parallels to a young Rayek were not lost on anyone, and the tribe brooded over their youngest member’s conduct. 

“You’re her best friend, Kimo,” young Fisher caught up with the shapeshifter one day. “Can’t you talk to her? She won’t say two words to me these days.” 

Kimo sighed. “I can talk to her. But I can’t make her listen. Ah, she reminds me of Dart whenever he hits his head too hard.” 

Fisher scowled, looking very much like Yun when she had a thought she had to chew over. 

* * * 

The rain was pouring as Gypsy Moth and Niptail scouted the remnants of a game trail. The flooding was turning everything to mud, even in the high ground. Standing water soon crept into her footprints in the soft earth. The birds were all nesting high above, and the small creatures were fleeing to higher ground every day. Gypsy held her long handled axe ready to strike as Niptail flushed out game by darted in and out of the underbrush. Any moment now some fat little possum would scurry up a tree trunk, and she would be ready. 

But it wasn’t a possum Niptail flushed out, but a small marsh deer. Gypsy took off after it, slipping in the mud as she swung her weapon wildly at the terrified creature. The marsh deer’s slight frame served it well, and it dashed up the muddy embankment without hesitation, disappearing for good into the ferns. Gypsy fell flat on her face in the liquid mud and had to concede the chase a failure. Niptail sniffed her ear encouragingly as Gypsy slowly got her feet. She struggled, her feet slipping on the muddy slope. She wrapped an arm around the wolf’s shoulder to aid her. 

Bubbles of water broke around her feet, triggered by the pressure of her weight against the muddy bank. 

And suddenly the hill collapsed out from under her. 

She screamed as she slid down the bank towards the churning water below. The storms were churning the floodwaters higher than ever, and instead of splashing down into a calm river, she fell into a deadly soup of muddy rapids and debris. Niptail fell on top of her, and she reached for him. But the current bore him away, and branches pushed against her shoulders, holding her fast. Water was everywhere – in her ears, in her nose. She couldn’t see. Her hands groped blindly for something to hold. 

She caught a root protruding from the bank the water had carved out of the hillside. She pulled her head out of the water and called for her wolf. “Nipper! Niptail! Niptail!” More water was pouring down against her. The river was swelling faster than she had ever seen – her landslide had unleashed more mud and water. She couldn’t hold her head up as the water rose around her chin. 

**Help me!** she sent desperately. **I need help!** 

She crawled at the bank in growing panic, coughing through the muddy water. Her struggles only loosened more mud, and the root gave way. Gypsy was swept back into the current. She tasted mud in her throat. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t see. 

Somewhere in the distance, she heard a wolf howling. It wasn’t her Niptail. 

Her hands found a rock and held on tight. She could see the riverbank just above her head. But she could not rise and reach for a support. The current was so strong, the water so heavy. She knew the tribe was coming for her. She knew she could not hold herself up much longer. 

I’m going... going away... she thought. 

Something seized her by her hair and pulled her up out of the water. Gypsy struggled and groped blindly for her saviour, and her hands hit wet fur and a muscled shoulder. The wolf bit her shoulder lightly in reprimand for her squirming, which threatened to pull them both over the lip of the bank. The wolf seized her shirt in its jaws and yanked her through the slick mud of the bank. She felt a painful heat after the chill of the water, and suddenly it was not a wolf’s fur she held in her hand, but an elf’s long hair. 

“Kimo...” she murmured. 

**Miwr...** 

Her soulname? 

**Kimo?** 

**Don’t go away, Miwr. Hold on.** 

He pulled her further up, until she felt solid ground under her knees. She crawled the rest of the way out of the swollen creek and collapsed in Kimo’s arms. 

* * * 

They didn’t find Niptail’s remains until the floodwaters receded, four months later. By then the fish had picked the wolf’s bones cleans. Gypsy Moth reverently polished the skull and set it in her den as a remembrance. She never spoke of the day Niptail drowned and she almost followed him. Not even to Kimo, now much more than her friend. She spent most of her days with him and Dart, staying on the high ground away from the floodwaters, refusing to move down into the lowlands until all the water had evaporated. Even after the worst of the rains passed and the water settled into gentle lakes, she shunned the little canoes and rafts the other Wolfriders used to navigate their flooded Holt. She bathed in the shallowest pools, and avoided swimming in the deep lakes. While other elves frolicked with the otters and the river dolphins that swam up into their holt, Gypsy glumly hid in the hills, or in the trees. She showed no interest in Wavecatcher’s ship, even as construction resumed in earnest come the end of the rains. 

The ship had passed it first test; it had remained afloat as its old stand had rotted away under twenty feet of water. Now that the hull was completed, Wavecatcher and his family were had at work fixing up the patchwork deck and erecting the mast. It was hard work, cutting the wood into planks with axes and knifes. A treeshaper’s powers would easy the burden tremendously. But there were no treeshapers in the Great Holt, and even if there were, it would have violated the terms of the wager. 

“You are still helping, aren’t you?” Wavecatcher asked Tass pointedly as she sat primly on a rock, watching his efforts. 

“Of course. The sails... they’re coming. I’ve been busy helping Father lately.” 

“That’s a new dress you’re wearing, isn’t it?” 

Tass had the good grace to look guilty. “Oh, this cloth wouldn’t have held up under the winds. I had a little problem with the weave. You want them strong, don’t you?” 

“And this new stronger weave... I’m not going to find out you made yourself a new coat, am I?” 

“Of course not. Don’t worry, everything’s on schedule.” 

“You and Cricket and going to the Bay next moon, aren’t you?” 

Tass fluffed her hair. “Uh-huh. With Cricket’s folks. Wanna come?” 

“I think I’ll send Fisher to put in an appearance. But if that... that pirate asks about the ship, you tell him I’ll be paying him a visit myself before the next storm season.” 

Yun appeared through the hole in the deck. “Well, the below-deck seems nice and cramped. Still, its amazing how little water made it inside. That coat of sap we made before the rains came really helped protect it.” 

“When we’re all done we’re going to paint it all over with boiled sap,” Wavecatcher told her. “This little maiden is going to be seaworthy enough to sail to Farthest Isle.” 

“Have you found a name yet?” Tass asked. 

“Can’t name a ship until it completes its maiden voyage,” Wavecatcher said. “That’s seafarer rules.” 

Tass frowned. “I thought the pirates always rename their ship the Lady Mura every time they have to rebuild it, whether it’s sailed or not.” 

Wavecatcher smiled patiently. “That’s cause the pirates are no-good cheats, little one.” 

* * * 

“You are coming with us to the Bay, aren’t you?” Fisher asked Gypsy Moth. She lay in Kimo’s den, her head pillowed against Kimo’s black fur. The wolf turned and licked her face. 

“I don’t know,” Gypsy replied glumly. 

“I’ll bet Sandpiper will want to see you,” Fisher offered cheerfully. 

“A water-scared wolf like me? I doubt it.” 

Fisher looked at Kimo meaningfully. The wolf averted his eyes. 

**Kimo!** Fisher locksent. **Aren’t you going to say something?** 

**What should I say?** 

**That she can’t hiding on the high ground forever. That she can’t let this ruin everything she loves. She’s your cursed... soul-sister or whatever now. She’ll listen to you.** 

Kimo said nothing. Gypsy Moth continued to avoid Fisher’s gaze. At length the Islander heaved a sigh and got to his feet. “What’s the use?” he muttered. “Wolves always stick together.” 

**He’s worried about you,** Kimo sent to Gypsy. 

**I know...** 

**You used to love going to Green Moon Bay. You used to love the sea.** 

**Wolves aren’t fish, and only fools confuse the two.** 

**I know how much it scared you, Miwr–** 

“No...” Gypsy murmured. “No, you don’t. You can’t.” 

* * * 

From the Grandfather Tree to Crest Point was a ten-day walk through the jungle at a leisurely pace – or a five-day fast march. The party settled for seven days, avoiding the human encampments, but bravely crossing the expanses of grasslands. On the final day of their journey, they came to the point itself. The launching place to their sail across the channel to the Islands was a secluded pebble beach, shaded by fruit trees and an afternoon’s walk from the closest human village. Sure enough, the old outrigger was where they had left it, beached above the squall line of the winter storms. Fisher and Shale carried it down to the water with Eyes High’s help while Cricket and Tass bickered over who would hold the spyglass first. Gypsy Moth stared out over the channel. The cliffs that shielded Green Moon Bay sat on the horizon, an inviting green mountain rising out of the turquoise sea. The winds were good – they would reach the Bay by sunset. The currents were calm in the channel, and a selfshaper like Fisher could grow his tail and swim to Green Moon Bay almost as fast as the outrigger could ride the breeze. 

The waves struck up a pulsing rhythm as they beat against the rocky beach. Gypsy could take salt spray on her tongue. 

It reminded her of the salty clay... diluted to a brown soup in the floodwaters. 

Eyes High calmly sat astride the pontoon of the outrigger and helped Shale raise the sail. The wind battered the sail against the narrow mast. 

The current kept battering her against the muddy bank, no matter how she tried to hold on... 

She gazed over at the slight whitecaps on the water, and in her mind’s eye they swelled in great rolling swells that threatened to overturn the outrigger and trap the sailors underneath the hull. The gentle surf that lapped at Fisher’s ankles became breaking waves tall enough to pull a full-grown human underwater. The pebbles underfoot became jagged rocks and downed branches, perfect to bruise and trap a helpless elf. 

“I can’t do this!” Gypsy said, turning away. 

* * * 

They had tried to convince her otherwise. Tass had rubbed her shoulders until the feeling of nausea passed. Fisher had tried, in his clumsy way, to allay her fears. “The winds are gentle. The sea is calm. You’ll never get better crossing weather than this, Gypsy!” 

In the end, she had sent them on their way without her, and she had called for the Palace to fetch her. It was a weakness, she knew. But she couldn’t face the seven-day-trek back to the Great Holt alone. 

“If you want to go to Green Moon Bay, we can just jump the channel and drop you off,” her big brother Sunstream offered helpfully. 

“The wolf who wants to fly because she can’t swim,” Gypsy sneered. “What would they think?” 

“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks,” Quicksilver said. “What do you want?” 

“I want to go home,” she murmured helplessly. 

So the Palace took her home to the Holt. And she saw out solitude in the midst of company, retreating to her den and scarcely emerging until her companions returned from Green Moon Bay, a full moon-dance later. 

“They built a new waterwheel!” Tass exclaimed. “The old one got thrashed good in the storms.” 

“The Lady Mura wasn’t in,” Fisher told Wavecatcher apologetically. “Making trade runs – but that’s just as well – ‘Strife won’t be expecting a thing when we sail in later in the summer under our own power.” 

“We went crabbing with the lads from Race Rock,” Cricket told Skywise. “You wouldn’t believe the colonies those little pincer-claws have set up on the bayside.” 

“Sandpiper was asking about you,” Fisher told Gypsy. But she did not seem cheered by the news. “Wanted to know why you didn’t come,” he added, hoping to move her. But Gypsy remained in her isolation. 

“Can we do something to help her, chieftess?” Kimo asked. “I kept hoping... if I was just patient... and stayed by her side to show her she’s safe... she’d realize she had nothing to fear.” 

Swift shook her head. “I could order her to take to the water... to... to take a canoe down to the mouth of the river to collect crabs from the mangroves... I could force her to face her fear. But... I think the... the ‘plunge’ is something Gypsy’s going to have to take herself.” 

Wavecatcher and his family continued on the ship every day. He was determined to sail in the autumn before the rains started. “We need to reinforce the sides here,” he told Yun and Fisher. “It won’t hold under the waves the way we have it now.” 

“It’ll hold,” Fisher insisted. “It’s just how the other ships are made at Green Moon Bay. I have watched them carefully, you know.” 

“It’s the sail I’m worried about,” Yun said as she hoisted the rigging. “It’s not the tough heavy stuff the Bay pirates use.” 

“Bay townies,” Wavecatcher corrected under his breath. “Don’t worry. It’s a good sail.” 

Gypsy watched the ship take shape from the safety of the trees. She was hiding out of view when Wavecatcher declared the boxy craft ready for its first voyage. It was stout-bellied like a fat porpoise, and barely longer than two humans laying down head-to-feet. Cricket was secretly taking bets with Skot and Pike on whether the seams would hold in the rough seas around Wanderer’s Reef. But Wavecatcher and his son were all smiles. 

“So this is what it takes to build a ship,” Swift announced when Wavecatcher invited his chieftess to see the finished product. “Years of sweat and toil... and a family of sharp minds.” 

“What it takes to build...” Gypsy murmured to herself. 

“What does it take to build an elf?” she asked Kimo that night. “What does it take to build Gypsy?” 

He smiled and gave her a hug. “A steady hand, a strong heart and a head that’s learned patience now and then.” 

“And a mind to maybe moving back into her own den now and then,” Dart grumbled. 

**He’s jealous,** Kimo sent. **Afraid we might be Recognized after all... that any moment now we’ll figure it out and start joining right in front of him.” 

Gypsy burst out laughing. Kimo smiled. It was the first time he had heard a good full-throated laugh out of her in moons. 

* * * 

The rains had begun in the mountains to the north, and the Green River was just beginning its leisurely rise. The ship bobbed in the water, tethered to the shore as the family loaded their supplies on board. It was the best time of the year for its maiden voyage. 

“If the winds are behind us, we should reach Green Moon Bay in a few days,” Fisher proclaimed optimistically. “We’ll send if we get into any trouble,” he assured Sunstream. “But Father and I’ll do all right, you’ll see. We’ll send to you from the Bay when we get there.” 

“Do they even know you’re coming?” Sunstream asked. 

“Of course not,” Fisher grinned. “Sending to strangers in impolite, don’t you know? Besides, I want to see the look on that pirate king’s face when our little water-leaf sails into the Bay.” 

“Aren’t you coming, Cricket?” Tass asked. “You put in as much work as I did. Come with us.” 

“Naw... I... I think I’ll let you take this honour, lovemate.” 

Tass stuck out her tongue at him. “Coward. You’d rather I drown than you, huh?” 

Cricket shrugged, smiling helplessly. “Can you blame me?” 

She mussed his hair, then pulled a lock at the nape of his neck until he was forced to bend his head to her eyelevel. “You’ll be eating those wagers of yours, my friend,” she vowed. 

Gypsy hugged Fisher goodbye. “You be careful. The storms around the Point can be rough... even now.” 

Fisher smiled. “We’ll do all right.” His smile faded. “Funny... when we were little, I always thought... if Father ever got a basket seaworthy, you’d be in there with me.” But then he brightened. “I’ll give them all your best. And I’ll make sure Sandpiper hasn’t forgotten you.” 

Gypsy shook her head. “Don’t... make waves, Fisher. You know how private they can be.” 

“Aw, don’t you give up on her, Gypsy.” He laughed. “I wouldn’t, if she was partial to my kind. She’s a sweet piece of–” 

Gypsy narrowed her eyes. “Of what?” 

“Of work,” Fisher amended. “See, you still want her.” 

Gypsy shrugged. “I haven’t seen her in over a year now.” 

Fisher sensed not to press matters. “Well, take care, flea. Don’t you and Kimo roll in anything smelly while I’m gone.” 

“You’re such a fish!” Gypsy laughed, catching him in an affectionate headlock. 

* * * 

At length the ship was ready to sail. Gypsy had disappeared for the send-off, and though he looked for her, Fisher could not spot her among the crowd. Wavecatcher cast off and he and Yun poled their way clear of the riverbank. The ship had little oarlocks for rowing, but the current was fast enough now that they simply stowed the two long paddles and let the river push them south. Tass stretched out at the bow, trailing her hand in the water. Yun sat with her legs tucked into the hold below. Wavecatcher and Fisher remained at the stern, grinning ear-to-ear despite their best efforts to reserve judgement. 

“What’ll we name this little thing?” Yun asked the air. 

“Can’t tell yet,” Wavecatcher said. “She won’t tell us until we get there.” 

“How about... the Wavedancer,” Tass called out from the bow. 

Wavecatcher chuckled. “Oh, we can do better than that, Tass.” 

They had tarried too long at farewells, and the sun was beginning to drop before they reached the sea. The current had slowed, and the water grew brackish as mangroves lined the widening banks. 

“Do you hear something?” Yun asked. 

“Like what?” Wavecatcher looked up. 

They heard it then, the distant cry of an elf, muffled through the foliage. Their pace was slowed down in the mangroves, and it wasn’t long before the voice grew louder, identifiable. 

Fisher grinned. “Well, I’ll be...” 

Gypsy Moth appeared on the far bank, waving her arms. “Hey! Wait up!” she cried. A bedroll hung from her shoulders. 

She waded out into the brackish water. The sandbars were everywhere now, and she managed to pick her way towards the boat without sinking deeper than her chest. At length she tossed her bedroll aboard the boat and held out her arms to Wavecatcher and Fisher, who hauled her up over the side. 

“What are you doing here?” Fisher asked. 

“Thought you could use another pair of hands,” Gypsy said, full of bravado. 

* * * 

They camped on the edge of the mangroves that night, feasting on fish and fruit. “So we sail with the tide tomorrow,” Wavecatcher said. “Probably be... a little before dawn.” He glanced at Gypsy Moth. “You sure about this? Once we’re on the sea, it’ll be harder to turn back.” 

“I’m ready,” Gypsy decided. “Really.” 

Everyone heard the note of lingering fear in her voice; everyone save Tass, who was already half-asleep, having feasted on starfruit. 

* * * 

Tass lost her meal almost the moment the ship pulled out onto the water at dawn. Yun gave her a leaf to chew, and she soon rallied, though she spent the entire morning dozing on deck, too weak to haul herself down below. “Trust me...” she moaned when Fisher offered to help. “The last place I want to be right now is in a wooden cocoon.” 

Gypsy Moth, by contrast, spent the morning at the stern, the picture of canine nervousness. Her eyes darted about the soft whitecaps, and the open sky overhead, keeping watch for stormsign. Fisher took over the sail from his father around noon and sat down next to his agemate. 

“I’m glad you came.” 

Gypsy nodded distractedly. 

“Why did you change your mind?” 

“I...” Gypsy shrugged. “I think I’d regret it if I didn’t.” 

“Regret? I thought you wolves didn’t have regrets. The Now and all that?” 

“And since when did ‘wolf’ become bad?” 

Fisher shrugged, uncomfortable. “Just jealous, I guess. You and Kimo. I mean...” he shrugged again. “It’s... it’s against the rules. You’re my closest agemate. We were stuck together like clamshells when we were pips. And we’re supposed to stay that way. But then I learn how to shape a tail and go swimming with Father... and you start spending more time with Kimo... learn the Now from him, learn to hunt from him. Even his like-to-like rubbed off on you!” 

Gypsy laughed. “I don’t think it works that way.” 

“No... probably not. It’s just... I guess we really aren’t that much alike after all. But... I just miss those days when we pretended we were.” 

Gypsy hugged his shoulders. “Wolves and fish can get along well, can’t they?” 

“Wolves eat fish,” Fisher quipped. 

“Well... wolves don’t like to eat your kind of fish. Hey, show me how this sail works, will you?” 

Fisher laughed at her clumsy effort to please him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and slipped the sturdy woven cord into her hand. “All right. Now hold it tight. The wind will want to take the sail away from you. Now when the wind’s steady we can tie it off here behind you. But right now the wind’s shifting a little, so we want to be able to shift the sail too. See?” 

* * * 

By evening the three elf-women retired below deck to sleep. It was a tight fit, but they decided all five could sleep below at once if need be. But the sky had become cloudy as the sun set, and Wavecatcher decided it was best they keep watch through the night. 

The hold was musty and smelled of damp tree sap, mingled with the sickly sweet odour that still clung to the seasick Tass. The air itched Gypsy’s sensitive nose. The constant slosh of water against the hull was driving half-mad. Whenever she closed her eyes and tried to shut out the sound and the smell, she felt the gentle sway of the ship even more. 

Gypsy dozed off-and-on throughout the night. Finally her thin bedroll became too uncomfortable and the swells became too jarring. She crawled out onto the deck, seeking fresh air. By then Fisher had retired to sleep, but Wavecatcher and Yun were on the deck. The swells were high now, and cold salt spray splashed up over the deck. 

“Where are we?” Gypsy asked. 

Wavecatcher shrugged. “Somewhere along the Great Spur.” He indicated the coastline, a gray blur in the darkness. “Can’t we sure where until sunup.” 

“Aren’t you cold?” He was wearing his usual costume; a short loincloth and nothing else. 

He shrugged again. “Not really.” 

“Well, you are getting tired,” Yun fretted. “Now, go down and take a rest. I can take the sail. Don’t worry, I won’t crash us against a reef.” 

Wavecatcher kissed her on the forehead, then retreated below. Gypsy joined Yun at the stern. Her hand was on the rigging, but her eyes were on the stars. A few scattered clouds blotted out the view, but the wind was pushing most of them onward. The sky was a great bowl overhead. 

“Strange...” Yun said at length. “Somehow... being out here on the water... the sky seems so much bigger... wider even than it ever did on the Plainswaste or in the Black Desert. You feel... so small.” 

“So alone...” Gypsy added. “The sky... so... empty.” 

“I don’t feel alone with the stars out,” Yun said. “I feel... tiny... a little afraid... but in a thrilling sort of way. But I’m never alone...” 

Gypsy smiled at her dreamy tone. “You’re Skywise’s daughter, all right.” She looked out over the dark sea and the cold sky overhead. “Me... I need the sounds of birds and little creatures... I need the... the life of the forest... the warmth it brings. I never feel comfortable anywhere else.” 

“But you’re here.” 

“I think... it’s good to make yourself... uncomfortable now and then.” 

Yun clapped her on the shoulder. “You’ve got your mother’s head, all right.” 

The ship rocked suddenly, and Yun pulled on the rigging to hold the sail steady. “Whoops... a little breeze there. Don’t worry,” she added when she saw the colour drain from Gypsy’s already-pale face. “We’re not going to be swimming any time soon.” 

“Good...” Gypsy murmured. 

* * * 

“Hah!” Fisher announced as he pulled aboard the fat silversail he had caught on his trailing fishing line. The fish was as long as his forearm, enough fresh meat for them all. They set to butchering the fish immediately, and ate the white flesh raw, savouring its sweet taste. 

“You should eat more,” Tass chastised Gypsy gently. She was already well into her second portion of fish. Gypsy always wondered why her elder-niece didn’t end up as stout as their little boat, given her prodigious love of rich food. 

“I... I don’t want to end up you two days ago,” Gypsy said warily. The waves were choppier now, and she was finding it harder to keep even dry bread and fresh water settled in her stomach. 

“Well... I think we’re closing in on the Point,” Wavecatcher said. “I think we can safely hope to make it to the Bay in two more days. If the wind holds.” 

* * * 

But the wind didn’t hold. First they were becalmed for half a day, then the wind changed, and blew them further out to sea before Wavecatcher managed to turn them around and use the winds to their advantage. By the fourth morning at sea, the sky was the colour of clay, and the sea was dotted with whitecaps. Now both Tass and Gypsy were seasick off-and-on through the day. But despite the uneven winds, Wavecatcher predicted they would cross Wanderer’s Reef by morning. “We’re doing well,” he insisted, cheerful as ever. 

The storm struck them without warning. The clouds turned dark, heavy with rain. The winds gusted sharply, tearing a hole in the sail. Tass raced to patch it with her bone needle and thread, while Gypsy Moth hung over the side of the ship, vomiting the meagre contents of her stomach. Soon the rains came sheeting down, obscuring the distant land. Waves sloshed up on deck, and Fisher bolted down the door to the hold. 

“Get down below!” he shouted at Gypsy. 

“No! No! I can’t! I’ll be trapped.” She seized the gunwale tightly. “Out here I can swim... I can swim.” 

“We can’t swim for land in this!” Tass shouted. 

“We’re not going to capsize,” Wavecatcher barked back. “Just hold on. We’ll turn for land.” 

“The waves will only get worse near land!” Yun protested. 

The ship tossed about on the waves. At times it seemed the crests of waves would rise up and devour the entire ship, mast and all. 

“Where’s the land?” Tass shouted. “I can see anything! Water... stings my eyes.” 

“Tass, get below deck! Gypsy, go with her!” 

“No, no,” Gypsy clung to the mast. 

“You’ll feel safer below deck.” 

“I’ll be trapped!” 

Fisher seized her and pulled her towards the hatch. Gypsy protested, kicking and clinging to the mast. “No!” she screamed. “No, please!” 

Fisher released her, and instead hustled Tass below deck. “Mother!” he snapped. “Mother, get below with Tass. You can’t help up here!” 

Yun crawled along the deck to the hatch and scrambled underneath. A wave crashed up on deck just as she slammed the hatch closed on its leather hinges, and nearly swept Gypsy overboard. She locked her arms tight around the mast, and wound a trailing length of rope around her waist. 

Fisher fought with the sail while Wavecatcher manned the rudder. “For the love of Mura, get below deck!” Fisher shouted. 

Gypsy shook her head. She looked up at the rising waves. It crested over their heads, and more water cascaded down on them. Gypsy’s arms were aching, but she held on. In the brief interlude between waves, she struggled to tie the rope around her waist. Now she didn’t think about being trapped if the boat was capsized. Now all she wanted to do was stay sitting up until the end, stay facing the waves, eyes open, until she couldn’t hold on any longer. 

“We’re going to die...” she breathed. 

“No, we’re not!” Wavecatcher shouted over the roaring wind. “Hold on!” 

The waves beat over her shoulders. Her arms and legs were going numb from the cold. She couldn’t see anymore through the wet mass of her hair over her eyes, and she was too terrified to let go of the mast and brush her hair back. 

“Hold on...” Wavecatcher shouted again, his voice growing distant. 

Her head sagged against the mast. She couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. 

* * * 

“Gypsy.... Gypsy, wake up...” 

Gypsy Moth moaned softly. She remember the storm, the mast, and the aches in her limbs as she wrapped her body around the pole for safety. But now she was lying on the deck of the ship. She was drenched to the skin, but she wasn’t cold anymore. The sun was high overhead, warming her skin. 

She opened her eyes, and saw Fisher’s face shadowed by the sun behind him. 

“What...” 

“Hey... you’re awake, water-rat,” Fisher grinned. 

“My head...” 

“That’s what you get for sleeping in the sun. But you were out so deep, we didn’t have the heart to try to move you below deck.” 

“Where... where are we?” 

Fisher smiled. “Come see.” He helped her sit up. Gypsy coughed, wiping the salt residue from her cheeks. 

The boat was gently bopping in the sea, the sail lowered. But the water wasn’t angry gray, or deep blue, but light turquoise. And barely a hundred yards away, it was broken by the white sand beach and towering palm tree forests of Green Moon Bay. Several elves had already gathered on the beach, watching the strange spectacle. A few were now wading into the water, waving in friendly greeting. 

“Big Beach,” Gypsy breathed. “We... we made it?” 

“We made it!” Fisher repeated. “See, I told you we’d do all right!” 

“Oy! Fin-wrists!” a familiar voice called. Gypsy squinted in the bright sun until she identified Loosestrife, Captain of the Lady Mura, sanding up to his chest in the warm water. “Well, look what the wind dragged in! That’s a damned ugly little bucket, but it looks like it got you here. Hey, baby puppy!” he exclaimed as he saw Gypsy. “What’s the wolf-chief’s little girl doing out here with the fish?” 

“Learning to swim,” Gypsy called out hoarsely. 

Loosestrife laughed. “Well, toss us your lines and we’ll haul you in. I guess I owe you a drink, Wavecatcher.” 

“You owe me more than that, pirate king!” Wavecatcher shouted back triumphantly. 

They tossed their lines to the Islanders who waded in, and together they poled and pulled the ship in until it came to rest soundly on a sandbar. “Ah, you should sail around to the docks later,” Loosestrife told them. “Shore it up properly.” 

Gypsy Moth leapt off the side of the ship and splashed down into the water. She was wet and miserable, but at least she was on solid land. Or so she thought. The sandy bottom seemed to shift and rock under her bare feet. She stumbled, and it was only the water up to her waist that held her upright. Loosestrife laughed as he took her arm. “A little landsick, hey? Come on, up on the beach, puppy, and we’ll dry you out.” 

He let her go once she steadied, and ran over to clap Wavecatcher on the back in congratulations. “So, what are you going to call this bucket, hmm?” 

Wavecatcher turned and looked at the little sailboat. “I think... the Dolphin.” 

“The Dolphin? Why?” 

Wavecatcher shrugged. “A dolphin’s not the fastest creature, not the flashiest. You see a whole pod of them, you don’t really notice any one single creature. But you get one alone in the waves, and you see what she can do... and you know she owns the sea.” 

Gypsy slogged through water until she stood ankle-deep. She clumsily brushed her stringy hair out of her face. 

Sandpiper stood on the beach, watching her. 

She was even more beautiful than Gypsy Moth remembered, her blond hair tightly curled about her shoulders, drawn back out of her face into little rows held by leather thongs. Her cheeks were prettily sunburned, bringing out the hazel colour of her eyes. 

Sandpiper hesitantly tiptoed down to the waterline, a shy smile tugging at her lips. 

“Gypsy...” Sandpiper smiled. “I... I didn’t know you were coming.” 

“Neither did I,” Gypsy replied clumsily. “I mean... it was... a snap decision.” 

“You didn’t come by last time. Fisher said you were ill.” 

“Well... I wasn’t feeling well for a while... but – but I’m better now.” 

“You look like a drowned rat!” Sandpiper giggled. 

“Well... we went through a bit of a squall–” 

“That was a bad storm. We were all holed up in the caves last night. You... you shouldn’t have been out in that.” 

“It sort of snuck up on us.” 

“Must have been a good little ship to take you through that. With a good crew.” 

“Oh... I wasn’t much help,” Gypsy shrugged. “I... my first time on the water... I mean, the open water.... All but got myself drowned.” 

Sandpiper reached forward and brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Are all you Wolfriders so brave?” 

Gypsy blushed. “Ohh... maybe so witless...” she looked down. 

“Aw, you’re shaking.” She slipped her arm around Gypsy’s shoulder and guided her out of the water. “Come on, let’s get you something dry to put on. And then we’ll get you something to drink, hmm?” 

“I... all right,” Gypsy stammered, letting herself lean against Piper’s arm. She was still trembling slightly, and Piper rubbed her arms briskly to warm them. Piper touched her head to Gypsy’s. 

“You are very brave, you know,” Piper whispered. 

Gypsy smiled softly.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the full EQ Alternaverse at http://www.janesenese.com/swiftverse


End file.
